In the Dark
by Sylmarillion
Summary: One-shot. My version of what will happen in The Reckoning when our good group storm the Edison Group building. Chloe and Derek have created a diversion, and now they're looking for a hidden door no one but them good guys know about. A bit of C D ;


There are footsteps all around us. Loud.

Close.

"Derek!" I hiss.

Ahead of me, Derek is scanning the walls of the corridor. "I know," he mutters anxiously. "I'm looking."

"Look harder!" I can feel my heart banging against my ribcage as I flick my eyes from one door to the next, expecting a white coat to emerge any second . . .

The footsteps get louder.

I look around frantically. "Derek . . ."

He's patting the walls now, looking for irregularities. "I'm trying, Chloe. Shut up a sec!"

"No, Derek, look . . ."

He turns around, sees I'm pointing at the base of a wall—and a gap. It's between the wall and the ground, maybe a centimeter high.

Derek springs forward, crouches, and slips his fingers under it. There's a soft hissing sound, and where a second before was a nondescript wall, the outline of a door has appeared. He pushes it open.

"In!" he commands, and I'm more than happy to oblige. A moment later the door is shut and he's standing beside me.

In total darkness.

"My torch fell while we were running," I whisper into the silence.

There's no answer.

"Derek?"

His hand clamps over my mouth. His voice is no louder than his breath when he whispers into my ear. "They're in front of us."

And my heart takes off again, galloping like it never has, so loudly I can feel it in my ears. I'm struck by the thought they scientists will hear it—and discover us. And all the planning and timing and effort everyone devoted will have been for nothing.

The thought flits away, and Derek says softly, "Easy." No doubt he can feel my heart, much less hear it.

Suddenly his hand tenses.

_No_, I plead silently to the scientists. _Just go. This is only a wall. It's impossible to hide behind one. Right? There's no one here. Go away . . ._

Derek grunts, and the hand drops from my mouth. "All clear."

I give out a long sigh and hold my head for a minute.

"You OK?"

Werewolf vision. What I'd give to have it right now. "Yeah. Give me some time."

No response, just a slight rustle as Derek settles down somewhere.

After a while, I spread my hands out and feel the walls around, trying to get a mental image of the room.

Derek's voice is low, but I can hear the amusement. "You could just ask."

"You mean how big the room is?"

"What else?"

I wait expectantly.

"We're in a four-by-four. There's nothing here, except a mop and bucket. It's on your right. No, don't! It'll fall over, and this room isn't soundproof.

I turn in the direction of his voice. "Where are you?"

"Here." His hand catches mine, and he pulls me down next to him. I settle in. His presence is comforting—the one sure thing in the maelstrom my world has become.

After a while, I take a breath. "You think Simon and Evon are OK?"

He takes a long time to answer. "Maybe. I—I don't know. I hope so. They're both smart enough to pull this off." A pause. "Simon seemed fine last we saw him." He means that time when we were running in opposite directions—Simon had held up a stack of papers, and grinned at us, then taken off. His backpack had been bouncing crazily.

Derek's worry for Simon is so obvious. And he hates not being sure, not having the truth and the facts in front of him. It's like being blind, for him.

I put my hand on his shoulder, rubbing the tense muscles there. "Just remember, it took two weeks to put this plan together. It's perfect, and so is the timing. We've done everything as we said we would—which was planned ages ago. We're only waiting for Simon now. And there's not much room for mistakes. The worst is over, right?"

"You think I don't know that, Chloe?" I know by the way he's talking he's looking at me, but I can't see anything. "But don't you see? There _is_ room for mistakes. That's why there's always a plan B. But plan A was so good, so genius, we thought we wouldn't need a plan B. And there you have it. One big, fat, stinking mistake sitting right in the middle of everything." Pause. When he speaks again, his voice is much lower, and he I can tell he's not looking at me anymore. "And what if one of us makes a mistake now, Chloe? We did a successful diversion, you and me, fine. But that's just the beginning. If any of us do something wrong from now on, _any_thing wrong, the whole thing comes crashing down, and there's _nothing_ we can do. We're smack in the middle of the Edison group, and if we crap something, we are dead. Meat." His voice has turned to a weary monotone by the end.

The muscles under my massaging fingers are still tense. "Well," I say at last. "That's a first."

"What?"

I grin. "The almighty Derek has spilled his guts, and guess what? He's scared shitless."

For a moment there's dead silence. I think he's going to ignore me. Or slap me.

Then he laughs.

The muscles loosen.

He laughs some more. It occurs to me he's never really laughed—a real laugh, that is.

"Jesus Christ," he says. "You are so right, Chloe. I'm scared. I'm really, really scared."

Somehow, the admission loosens even me. "Join the club, werewolf." I grin again, and almost unconsciously my fingers move to another place—from massaging Derek's shoulder to cupping around his face, rubbing his cheek with my thumb. The action feels so right, so natural, it takes me a few seconds to realize what I'm doing.

"Chloe."

". . . Yeah?" I've stopped rubbing, but my fingers seem unable to leave his face. Inside my head a voice is berating me. _You've gone and done it now, you stupid little thing._

"What are you doing?" Derek sounds confused. But he doesn't move away.

And suddenly, I don't want my hand to, either. "Uh—you mean . . . this?"

Again, my thumb starts rubbing his cheek, almost of its own accord. The other fingers ghost across his lips.

The voice in my head is bewildered, angry even. _What do you think you're doing?_ it cries, sounding a lot like Aunt Lauren.

Aunt Lauren . . . tears prick the back of my eyes as I remember.

Derek doesn't answer.

Trembling slightly, I raise my other hand and touch his lips again. They're only slightly chapped, and they're soft. Very soft.

I shift closer, so close I can feel his body heat, his heart beating quickly in his chest, matching my own jagged beat.

Still he doesn't say anything.

Slowly, I lean forward and brush my lips across his.


End file.
